


the sea makes your eyes strange

by destronomics



Category: Iron Man (Movieverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destronomics/pseuds/destronomics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today it's two AM in a Polish hostel, between an old Soviet-era embassy and a cafeteria open 24 hours with free wi-fi and plenty of napkins to steal when your mark got red on you while bleeding out in the alley three blocks away</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sea makes your eyes strange

It's two in the morning and everything hurts. Or looks it. Or should. Before it was six AM, before that, four in the afternoon. Today it's two AM in a Polish hostel, between an old Soviet-era embassy and a cafeteria open 24 hours with free wi-fi and plenty of napkins to steal when your mark got red on you while bleeding out in the alley three blocks away.

At least that's what Coulson makes out when Natasha tries to speak. It mostly comes out in wet, lazy pops from the back of her throat and she stopped trying to do even that when he gave her drugs to swallow; now she just stands mostly still. Waits.

The tendon along her neck snaps tight and Coulson can make a fair guess that the drugs aren't doing much. The gash trails along the back of her thigh, about 20 centimeters long and deep enough that when traced the length with a finger, the tip sinks in up to the first knuckle. His stomach doesn't roil.

As guesses go, Coulson's have always been quite good. Hand against the meat of her shoulder, he tries to help as she steadies herself near the window, forearms up against the wood frame, forehead against the glass. Her breath fogs the window white once, twice, and then she's nodding. The smell of skin roasting as the SHIELD-issued medical laser does its thing overpowers the blood in the room and Coulson would welcome it if--

"I _know_."

\--if Natasha knew when to just be hurt.

He frowns. "I haven't even said anything yet--"

"But you were going--"

He sees the wince through the window. "Of course I was going to, you screwed up."

"I said I kn--"

"Then shut _up_."

Natasha hasn't lost enough blood to forgive his tone, and he might have a fist to the mouth for it if his cuffs weren't soaked in the stuff. As it stands, though, the wince is a glare now so that's. It's better. It's in the realm of better, and the laser of Stark's little afterthought is halfway along, leaving behind puckered, vividly red skin as he tells her the guy she left breathing pulled the alarm, leaving the entire operation vulnerable. If she knew -- if she knew _better_ \-- then it wasn't just an unfortunate oversight, it was incompetence on a level almost obscene and he could only do so much, he _would_ only do so much, because there are careers to think of and his is one of them. Also, it wouldn't change anything: she'd still be bleeding like a stuck pig and he'd still only be halfway through and _seriously_ , "Stop moving."

She stops. And when he looks up she's glaring at him through the window.

"Thank you."

"Not--" The hiss, from her skin, then her. "--a problem."

She stays still for the rest of it.

By the time he's done, something in those horse pills must be taking effect, because the only sign that he's just spent the last fifteen minutes melting two flaps of her skin together is the faint tremor making its way up her back.

There's plenty left to debrief, plenty left to upbraid, but she isn't dead and he didn't kill her so he figures they both deserve a chance to celebrate that. With plenty of paperwork, but.

He steps back.

"You good?"

Forehead still pressed against the window, arms still braced on the frame, there's a long stretch of Natasha's unmarred skin between her bra and underwear, mottled from the lights outside.

Her eyes are closed and he doesn't remember when that happened but he tries not stare. He thinks maybe it was when he was trying not to kill her, and it should scare him, a little, Natasha with her eyes shut like that, tight, like she's keeping something out.

But he's the only thing in the room.

She nods, eyes still shut, light still streaming in from the outside, "I'm good."

**Author's Note:**

> for the [Awesome Ladies Ficathon](http://ineffort.livejournal.com/199061.html?thread=3869333#t3869333).


End file.
